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COFYRIGIFT DEPOSIT. 



SONGS UNDER OPEN SKIES 



BY 

M. JAY FLANNERY 




STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS .... CINCINNATI 



COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY 
STEWART & KIDD CO. 







^ 



CA 



©CU328328 



TO MY WIFE 



Thanks are due The Twentieth Century Magazine and 
The National Magazine for their kind permission to repro- 
duce certain poems in this volume. 



CONTENTS 



Before the Storm, - - - - - 9 

Mack's Pond, - 10 

The Robin Calls, - - - - - 1 1 

Did You Ever Go Afishin'? - - - 12 

Camping on Mad River, - - - - 1 5 

The Cardinal Bird, - - - - 17 

My Old Home, - - - 18 

When Wash and I Went Fishing, - - 20 

Ephraim's Boys, - - - - - 22 

Huffersville, _____ 24 

Let 's Go Home, - - - - - 26 

Phyllis, - 29 

For I Love You, - - - - - 31 

I Know a Dear Little Maiden, - - - 32 

A Passion Serene, - - - - - 33 

Moods, ------ 35 

Be It So, - - 37 

Pessim and Optim, - - - - 39 

As I Came Home at Eventide, - - - 40 

The Egoist, - - - - - 41 

You Call Him Infidel, - - - - 42 

Love, Sacred and Profane, - - - 43 

When I am Gone, - - - - - 44 

As Love Met Hate, 45 

Ad Amicum, - - - - - - 46 

William Henry Venable, - - - - 47 



Addison Peale Russell, - - - - 48 

Edwin Bruce Cox, - - — — 49 

To One Who Saw Matthew Arnold, - - 50 

Ad Magistrum, - - - - -*= 51 

Hamilton, - — - - - - 52 

However Long I Ling* ring Wait, — - 53 

In Memoriam, - - - - - 54 

Jeff Hildebrant, ----- 55 

To a Poet Born in April, - - - - 57 

The New Year, - - - - 59 

The Schoolma'am, - - - - - 60 

The Schoolmaster, - - - - 61 

The Aviators, - - - - - - 62 

Abraham Lincoln, - - - - 64 

Paola and Francesca, - - - - - 65 

How Can We Face the World? - - - 66 

I Stood Beside the Open Grave, - - - 68 

Love 's Enough, ----- 69 

Young John Thomas, - - - - 71 

The City of God, - - - - 72 

An Ode, ______ 78 

To Miss C , ----- 88 

Schoolgirls Chattering, - - - - 89 

Autographs, ----- 90 



SONGS UNDER OPEN SKIES 



BEFORE THE STORM 

T^HE leaves in the wind are aquiver, 
* The rose on her stem is anod, 
A mauve light up-gleams from the river, 
A dank smell exudes from the sod. 

Across the once blue of the heaven 
The storm-cloud unrolls a deep gloom 

That is cut by the flash of the levin 
As white as a lily abloom. 

In the east is the silence of waiting, 
In the west is the roar of the storm; 

While the watchers their senses are sating 
With its beauty of color and form. 



MACK'S POND 

[ STOOD to-day beneath the trees 
* Upon the margin of the pond, 
Whose waters crinkled in the breeze 

And lapped the sloping bank beyond. 
The sunlight patterned all the wave 
Where tossing leaves the openings gave. 

A strange, mysterious quiet reigned — 
A silence vocal with the hum 

Of insects, that the ear enchained, 
And shot athwart by cries that come 

From every sort of beast and bird 

The day-god into life had stirred. 

The boy with team amid the corn 
Lent to that choir his tenor note; 

And booming on the air of morn 

The noise of rushing train would float. 

The black bass feeding in the pool 

Splashed in his play the waters cool. 

And yet for all that coil of sound 
I seemed from living things remote; 

It made the stillness more profound 
That on the ear of listener smote. 

That hush of Nature tranced the heart 

And made it of that life a part. 

10 



THE ROBIN CALLS 

'T'HE robin calls from yonder tree 
* An unmelodious note, 
Calling in vision back to me 

A spring now far remote, 
When Youth and Love o'erflowed my soul 
To every inlet, deep and shoal. 

He calls reiterant his mate, 

As long ago called I 
From out a lyric heart elate 

In song to earth and sky, 
A love all other loves beyond 
In frenzied hearts of lovers fond. 

He calls and calls, but calls not back 

To this poor heart of me 
The spring of springs that on the rack 

Stretched soul and sense for thee. 
For chill December's icy breath 
Of false heart brought my love to death. 



II 



DID YOU EVER GO AFISHIN'? 

^\ID you ever go afishin' in "the merry month o' May," 
*- - ' When the cornplantin 's over, an' you had an idle 

day? 
When the trees were all ashinin' in their glossy coats 

o' green, 
And the birds among the branches, like a choir behind 

a screen, 
Sang their songs o' love an* gladness in their sweet an' 

cheery way? 
Did you ever go afishin* on such a glorious day? 

I can shut my eyes an' see it, just as plain as plain 

can be, 
Up at Spangler's, on Mad River, in the spring o' 

seventy-three. 
I can smell the grass agrowin', I can feel the velvet 

sod 
Underneath my feet aspringin', as I grasped my 

fishin' rod 
An', with Dan'l Folck aleadin', took my way down to 

the brook, 
To try my luck afishin* with a pole an* line an' hook. 

Me an* Dan went down the roadway to'ards where 

Woolleys ust to live, — 
What a pleasure just anamin' of those ol' friends seems 

to give! — 

12 



Then we turned off through the pastur' an* across 

the railroad tracks, 
With our hearts abeatin' warmer than the sun upon 

our backs, 
Till we reached the side o' Spring Run an* on its moist 

bank set; 
For the grass within the shadow still with the dew 

was wet. 

Oh, the words with power fail me to tell you how I 
felt, 

To describe this pearl o' streamlets, and how its 
waters smelt 

Of the fresh spring shower o' raindrops that fell the 
night before, 

An' cleared the sky o' cloudbanks, an' spread a fresh- 
ness o'er 

The whole surroundin' landscape, an' filled this witch- 
in' stream 

With swishin', whisperin' murmurs, like the voices 
in a dream. 

An' there upon that brookside we set us down to fish, 
A world o' joy within us, there was nothin' else to 

wish. 
For the goggle-eyes an' catfish bit at our simple bait, 
An' when the bites were lackin' 't was contentment 

just to wait 
An' watch the curlin' eddies go adancin' out o' sight. 
In youth time just alivin' is a source o' pure delight. 

13 



But when the fish quit bitin' in that particular place, 
We wandered down the streamside, an' as noon drawed 

on apace, 
We turned our footsteps to'ard that spot now held in 

Mem'ry's bond, 
An* et our relished dinner by the side o' ol' Mack's 

Pond. 
(They did n't call it Shartle's in those old an' better 

days, 
Fore the city folks had spilt it with their mincin' 

city ways.) 

Then, as that fine spring afternoon draw'd swiftly 

to its close, 
Too swiftly for those tense young hearts that knew 

no other woes 
Than that their days were all too short, we turned 

our faces home; 
With tired limbs but hearts content we turned back 

from our roam. — 
Say, you have missed full half your life, yes, more 

than that, I lay, 
If you never went afishin' in "the merry month o' 

May." 



14 



CAMPING ON MAD RIVER. (A FRAGMENT.) 

(ToZ. T. H. and G. H. S.) 

TTHOSE days and my pale-visaged, spectral self, 
* Across the vistaed years which, wayward, elf 
In tangles all the skein of mundane things, 
Float like dim wisps of driven cloud on wings 
Into the blue of unremembering Time. 
Then, ere the curtain fall on our poor mime, 
This to the memory of those precious days 
We passed in concourse, conning Nature's ways 
And drinking deep from friendship's brimming 
glass. 

And unto you, my thrice-dear friends, who pass 

In vivid presences through every hall 

And chamber of my heart; whose voices call 

In thrilling accents; — unto you I give 

My tribute for a friendship that will live 

Beyond the bourne of time. If He who rules 

In His wise providence this world, has schools 

In other spheres, I ask no greater joy 

Than with such noble friends my soul to employ. 

The morn long-looked-for dawned without a cloud 
To mar expectant hope, or crush the crowd 
Of eager longings born in hearts still young. 
Fair Nature with her silver- trumpet tongue, 

2 15 



Speaking through every breeze, blew crystal calls 

For all her lovers pent in cramping walls, 

To break their bonds, loaf, and invite their souls 

To share her gustful feast among the boles 

Of oak or elm or silvered sycamore, 

Beside some pleasant stream whose waters pour 

Content into the heart of him who yields 

Himself a trustful worshiper of fields 

And forests, hills outlined against the blue 

Of distant skies, and all the motley crew 

That people these domains. 



16 



THE CARDINAL BIRD 

A FLASH of fervent flame from out the green 
** Of yonder tree, and from the midst a voice 
So silver-sweet it seems no sound terrene, 
But some choir-note of angels that rejoice. 



17 



MY OLD HOME 

IN a broad and fruitful valley 
* Framed by gently curving hills 
Lies a fair and pleasant village 

Whose dear name my memory thrills. 

Fertile fields are all about it, 
Giving it that precious name: 

Fair-of-field — than it no other 

Can with joy my heart so flame. 

Here, in days now gone forever, 
Lived I, free from carking care; 

Here I spent those days of gladness 
To which Youth is always heir. 

In this village passed my school-days, 
When emotion' s fervent glow 

Spread a glory over trifles 
Such as Age can never know. 

Down her streets my feet have trodden, 
And my heart with hope was full, 

As Ambition's powerful tension 

At my heart-strings seemed to pull. 

Here, too, came my early manhood, 
Years that brought a calmer mood; 

Life's harsh duties pressed upon me, 
Left no time to dream or brood. 

18 



Here were formed those ties of friendship 
Time can never break apart; 

Here was formed that sacred union 
That now binds my hand and heart. 

Is it strange that as I wander 

And read deep in Life's old tome, 

My fond heart should love thee ever, 
Fairfield, dearest, my Old Home? 



19 



WHEN WASH AND I WENT FISHING 

'T'HE sun shone bright and glorious that dewy summer 
* morn, 

The meadow larks were piping loud and gay; 
Dear Bob White whistled bravely 'mong the checkered 
rows of corn, 
And the air was sweetly fragrant of the hay; 
The yellow sunlight shimmered in gold upon the 
trees, 
The light clouds flecked the heaven's blue beyond; 
There was beauty in the landscape and music in the 
breeze, 
When Wash and I went fishing at The Pond. 

All Nature seemed alive with joy that beauteous day 
in June, 
And our hearts to every impulse made response; 
To the music of the earth and sky they beat in perfect 
tune, 
And life seemed worth the living for the once. 
The fresh young blood surged in those hearts to 
lighten them from care, 
And Hope her roseate colors quickly donned. 
Oh, Life and Hope went hand in hand adown the 
valley there, 
When Wash and I went fishing at The Pond. 

20 



The years have glided swiftly since that lovely sum- 
mer day, 
And Time has put his mark on form and face; 
The crow-feet mar our features, and our hair is turn- 
ing gray, 
And we miss our youthful strength to run the race. 
But our hearts have not forgotten 'midst the strife 
of all those years 
The strong and joyous lesson we then conned. 
We have faced the shafts of Fortune with a courage 
void of fears, 
Since that day we went afishing at The Pond. 



21 



EPHRAIM'S BOYS 

UVAIR Bellbrook lies along the hillside, 
* Reposeful on her triumphs won 
In former days of stern endeavor, 

In days that are forever gone. 
The Present rests in dreamful quiet, 

Content to call the Past her own. 

Not always thus has been her story. 

The slum'brous silence she enjoys, 
The old heroic days of Bellbrook, 

The days that knew Old Ephraim's Boys, 
Would from her shake with zeal relentless, 

As blight that her fair strength destroys. 

In courage strong, in high devotion, 

With youth and strength and spirit blest, 

Those boys, in shop, at forge or bench-side, 
Though rife with fun, with quip and jest, 

Yet wrought with manful purpose alway; 
And life and deeds their truth attest. 

Their labor filled with hum the workshop, 
Their laughter rilled the street with noise; 

In fun and frolic, work or pleasure, 
In all that thoughts of youth employs, 

Those men were boys in every feature, 

Those fine young men, Old Ephraim's Boys. 

22 



Now, thirty years have passed so swiftly, 
And Ephraim in the graveyard lies; 

Those boys are changed to aging gray-beards, 
And work and care have dimmed their eyes. 

But hearts of courage still support them, 
The spring of Youth, that Age defies. 

Are present days, then, less heroic? 

Is Bellbrook now less full of Men? 
Forgive an old man his illusions, 

Whose blood throbs not as it did then. 
The Present has its own achievements, 

But this lies not within his ken. 



23 



HUFFERSVILLE 

HPHE Valley Pike comes leading down 
* And forms the sole street of that town, 
Whose name is yet without renown. 
But eyes with tears unconscious fill 
For Huffersville. 

My memory cons each object o'er: 
The apple tree beside the door, 
And Anton Glasser's grocery store; 
The willow and the old grist mill, 
In Huffersville. 

The logyard lies beside the road, 
But drives not now the sharp oxgoad, 
The patient ox drags not his load. 
The mill is gone, the saw now still 
In Huffersville. 

The forebay flings its waters bright 
That sparkle in the shimmering light; 
The covered bridge bursts on my sight ; 
And old Bath church upon the hill 
Near Huffersville. 

Mad River pours his limpid stream, 
Where I can see as in a dream 
The backs of naked urchins gleam, 
As they disport at their sweet will 
In Huffersville. 

24 



The schoolhouse up the Dogtown way, 
Where boys and girls in dreamland play 
As they did in that distant day, 
When boy-love did my pulses thrill 
In HufFersville, 

Still holds its corner of my heart. 
But in those dreams, a world apart, 
My Mother's face to life will start. 
No distance then my love can chill 
For Huffersville. 

And now, these bright September days, 
I see those visions through the haze 
Of glory Time, the Artist, lays. 
Across the years they call me still 
From HufFersville. 



25 



LET *S GO HOME 

{Dedicated to the Greene County, Ohio, Home Coming.) 

(~\ BOYS and girls of dear old Greene, where 'er you 

^-S wander now, 

Whether "your locks are like the raven" or "the 

frost is on your pow;" 
No matter where your dwelling is, beside the Golden 

Gate, 
Or in the nearer distance of the fine old show-me 

State ; 
If on the banks of Hudson, or in Oklahoma new, 
Or 'mong the pines of Georgia, — a voice calls loud 

for you. 
On every breeze t is borne along beneath the sunlit 

dome; 
'T is the voice of our old Mother. She 's calling. 

Let 's go home! 

Where 'er may be our hearthstones, our heartstrings 

vibrate still 
To the call of our dear home-land, of every vale and hill. 
Though far from her we Ve wandered, we drag the 

lengthened chains, 
Though other interests call us, our love for home 

remains. 
Amidst the bickerings of the mart, the folly and the 

strife, 
This vicious rough-and-tumble we mortals vain call 

Life, 

26 



— —— — ra»a— ^— — — — i— »^M»l urn ■«— 



Our yearning hearts turn to that voice, wherever we 

may roam; 
'T is the voice of our old Mother. She 's calling. 

Let s go home! 

From the rocky walls at Clifton, from the Glen at 

Yellow Springs, 
From Cedarville and Old Town, that welcome message 

rings. 
And then from dear old Jamestown, where they used 

to hold The Fair, 
(That best of bards, Alf. Paxson, is the Poet Laureate 

there ;) 
From Xenia, and Spring Valley down there by Bar- 
rett's Mills; 
From Bellbrook, too, that classic town, among her 

seven hills. 
(Oh, the coasting hill at Bellbrook with its merry 

midnight noise 
Still grips the heart with tender pain of one of Eph- 

raim's Boys.) 

From Osborn and from Bowersville, from Paintersville 

and Goes, 
From Alpha and from Bobtown, the wind that message 

blows. 
And from that finest valley, where Mad River turns 

the mill, 
Where Fairfield shows her well-loved form to the 

summit of Read's Hill; 

27 



From the depths of Rocky Hollow that our feet have 

trod of yore, 
And the little town of Byron, where Mitch. Ennis 

kept The Store — 
To all her absent children, wherever they may roam; 
'T is the voice of our old Mother. She s calling. 

Let s go home. 



28 



PHYLLIS 

LOVE her unobtrusive ways, 
The restful rustle of her dress, 
The homely grace her form displays, 
Her quiet cheerfulness. 

Here flames no passion's fire intense 
To burn to ashes friendship's flower; 

But hearthside warmth of love to fence 
Two hearts from winter's power. 

The artist in this rustic face 

May find of beauty little store, 

And sculptor hand may fail to trace 
Soft lines for marble frore. 



Her lips may miss Dan Cupid's curve, 
Her nose tilt upward in surprise, 

Her cheeks no metaphor deserve, — 
But oh! but oh! her eyes! 

Their light is tender as the morn 

At its new birth, when, sweet and shy, 

A breeze runs whispering through the corn, 
And pearl tints flush the sky. 

29 



They speak to me of artless love, 

Of heartful, precious, homelike things, 

That lift my humble soul above 
The sordid pomp of kings. 

And so I love her soothing ways, 
The clean-sweet odor of her clothes, 

The tranquil charm that round her plays, 
Her mien of rare repose. 



30 



FOR I LOVE YOU 

T HAVE a secret I 'm yearning to tell, 
* Forth from my bosom it threatens to well. 
It will oerpower me. Oh, what shall I do! 
It s, I love you, love you. 

With its tense passion I 've struggled in vain, 
Fearing its telling could only bring pain. 
Nothing its power can bind or subdue, 
For I love you, love you. 

Turn not your ear from my pleading away; 
List to the story my heart has to say. 
This is its message, and with it I woo: 
Oh, I love you, love you! 

Earth has no other my soul can desire; 
Heaven holds no promise my cold faith to fire; 
None else I find half so lovely or true, 
Since I love you, love you. 

If there *s no hope in the light of your eye, 
Nothing is left me but only to die. 
Come to my forehead then death's chill and dew, 
For I love you, love you. 



31 



I KNOW A DEAR LITTLE MAIDEN 

T KNOW a dear little maiden, 
* Sweeter than clover is she, 
When its bloom in the meadow is laden 
With spoil for the home of the bee. 

Fairer her face than the morning, 

When Dawn takes the east with surprise 

The love-light, her features adorning, 
Beams out from the depths of her eyes. 

Happy her heart as the springtide, 
When blossoms burst out on the spray; 

Pure are her thoughts at their wingtide 
As skies on a bright, cloudless day. 

Life, take this dear little maiden 

Close to your bosom of love; 
See that her sweet heart is laden 

With blessings that come from Above. 



32 



A PASSION SERENE 

V\ 7HAT can they know who are children, forsooth, 

* * Of the meaning of love? 

They who are stricken with mad-frantic dreams 

By the gods above? 
Theirs is no love, this hot passion and pain 

That racks their breasts 
With a torture and bliss as of heaven and hell. 

The blind god jests 
With such as these in their folly and teen. 

But we, ah we! 
We who have sailed through the fast fleeting years 

O'er the tempestuous sea; 
We who have sorrowed and suffered and wept 

O'er the ills of life, 
Together as lovers and helpers and friends, 

As husband and wife; 
Out of the ashes of burnt-out desire 

Have seen arise, 
Holier, purer, and chaste as the snow 

Under moonlit skies, 
Free from the bi tings of jealous despair, 

A passion serene. 
In this new kingdom of peace that is perfect 

Thou art the queen. 



33 



Deep in our hearts is the spirit of Love; 

O'er us it hovers. 
We who have passed through the flames of the 
furnace, 

We are true lovers. 



34 



MOODS 

Sometimes I Muse 

COMETIMES I muse what fate awaits 
^ My soul behind that unpierced wall. 
Shall I but sleep within those gates? 
Or answer glad some higher call? 

Shall dreamless Nothing there enfold 
My being, dead to love or hate? 

Or shall I rise from out this mold 
A spirit free, with joy elate? 

What matter which to me may come? 

Whate'er may hap will still be best. 
Whether I strive beyond the tomb, 

Or sink to an eternal rest. 

It Must Be So 

It must be so that we shall meet 
Some morrow in that Other Land; 

There to renew communion sweet, 
And walk with loving hand in hand. 

When that will be, oh we shall know, 
In that clear light which fills our hearts, 

No shadow, such as here below 

To truest love some gloom imparts. 

35 



For from the source of Love Divine 
We two shall draw such perfect bliss, 

That heart to heart we shall incline 
In trust more pure than known in This. 



36 



BE IT SO 

SUPPOSE that after this keen-sentient gust 
Of transitory breath there dawns no trust 
Of gladsome morrow, yet why should I fear 
To face the inevitably True, and steer 
My course by present stars? Of what avail 
That I should cheat my ear with mystic tale 
Told by some Dreamer-Seer of long ago, 
In the dim dawn, when overcharged with woe 
Was every prophet's message? If there be 
Beyond the boundaries of the world we see 
Some better life, why I shall enter in 
Without surprise, and, fitful, strive to win 
Acceptance there as here — and fail, no doubt, 
To please my own poor self. (For I count out 
Of my world-schema any conscious gods 
Whose purpose stands with my best self at odds.) 

But, if Oblivion's waters, fresh and cool, 
Shall bathe my soul in its deep, stagnant pool 
And drown all fair remembrance, be it so! 
Without a craven fear my feet shall go, 
And void of all regret. For I have wept 
And smiled, loved and been loved, and sweetly 

slept 
After the long day's toil; and felt good hate 
Darkle my face. What else in store has Fate? 



37 



Yea, summer sunsets, autumn's golden glow, 
The warm, dank breath of spring, the maze of 

snow, 
The spacious vault of night belit with stars, 
The ocean's throb, and all the primal wars 
Of Natures elements, — all these were mine 
To feel and know. Why should I fret or whine? 

Thank the All-giver for the life that is, 

And, if a purpose more benign be His, 

Thank Him for that. But thank Him like a Man, 

Who looks into the face of God to scan 

His own best nature with undaunted eye; 

And knows it life, mayhap the best, to die. 



38 



PESSIM AND OPTIM 

Pessim 

LJOW strange this coil of life to which I cling 
* * With such a feverish yearning, as a thing 
Of utmost worth, despite the toil and pain, 
Sorrow and troubled joy, and love as vain! 
I did not seek of any gods that be 
A task like this, to tempt a shoreless sea 
In craft so frail, without or helm or chart, 
A lowering sky o'erhead, within a heart 
That looks and longs for some small rift to ope, 
And potent voice (vain wish!) to counsel, Hope. 

Optitn 

I did not ask for this great gift of life, 

But some High Power has armed me for the strife 

With swelling heart to meet with dauntless front 

Whatever fates or gods may send. I blunt 

The edge of my desire to fight with weak 

Complaints! No, no! On every side I seek 

For worlds to conquer. Every nerve of me 

Quivers with joy to try this trackless sea. 

I did not will to come, but I rejoice, 

And in this call to battle hear God's voice. 



39 



AS I CAME HOME AT EVENTIDE 

A S I came home at eventide 
** Involved in purple rime, 
I watched the squadroned stars alight 
To read their sense sublime. 

They seemed a drift-revealing choir 

That sang to spirit ears 
Of Man, of God, — of Mysteries 

Filling the fleeting years. 

It was as if their voices still 

Across the unpathed span 
Must blab the secret of the world, 

A meaning hint for Man. 

But though I came at eventide, 
And though inspired by rime, 

The stars in silence swept the sky, 
Nor told their sense sublime. 



40 



THE EGOIST 

f ASK no help of any power 
* In heaven above or hell below; 
'Gainst all the baleful hosts that lower 
My own unaided strength I throw. 

Why should I impotently cry, 

Or waste my breath in craven prayer? 

At worst I can but fighting die, 
And spill my spirit to the air. 

Give me to feel my pulses rouse 
With all the joy of mortal strife; 

Let bliss-of-battle knit my brows; 
For this is breathing, this is life! 

I am, and all the winds that blow 
Cannot remove me from that base. 

With pride I challenge every foe, 
And fling my glove in every face! 



41 



YOU CALL HIM INFIDEL 

\/OU call him infidel who fails to see 
1 Within the wrappage thick which you have 
placed 

Around the soul of Him of Galilee 

The truth, so lucent in simplicity, 

But hid by that in which it lies encased. 

Yet which of you before His face shall stand 
The more unfaithful: he who dares to say 
He sees no truth? or you whose dogmas lay 
The block of stumbling in your brother's way, 

In your blind zeal to follow Christ's command? 



42 



LOVE, SACRED AND PROFANE 

I7LAME- WHITE with a consuming love of Him 
* Who walked Judea's hills now centuries dim, 
I sought my Lord within the garden's gloom 
And found — an empty tomb! 

In wavering weakness and with many a lapse 
[ sought my brother, — more from need, perhaps; 
But, as commercing the low ways we trod, 
I found that I loved — God! 



43 



WHEN I AM GONE 

\\ 7HEN I am gone, and ye around my bier 
W Shall softly shed a sweet, unbitter tear, 
Shaping your speech in kindly thought of me, 
Who have no ear to hear, no eye to see, 
May not my life too poorly mean appear. 

When I have done with every mortal fear 
And paid the debt I owe to Nature here, 
No boast of deeds of valor done can be, — 

When I am gone. 

Nor need ye tell how unto those most dear 
My vagrant heart at call of Love would veer. 
But may some child who played about my knee, 
Or stricken soul, say only this, that he 
Made life more happy through the livelong year,- 

When I am gone. 



44 



AS LOVE MET HATE 

A S Love met Hate in the crowded way, 
**■ Said Hate with a scowl that darkened the day, 
"What a beastly mob, and what nasty weather! 
A curse on the world and its people together!" 
Said Love with surprise in her light-shot eyes, 
"Why, I never beheld such beautiful skies; 
Grasses and flowers the bright fields cover; 
Each man in the way, and each maid, is a lover. 
What a glorious world, and how sweet is mankind ! 
I travel no further my heaven to find." 



45 



AD AM I CUM 

IN my own strength I cannot stand, 
* Without your heart I am not whole; 
Like soft dews in a rainless land 
Is your love to my thirsting soul. 



46 



WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE 

WE greet Ohio's foremost son of Song 
In thee, who sang Miami's willowy stream 
In virent Junes, and dreamed the Teacher's 
Dream 
With virile faith that makes the struggler strong. 
Undying loves from us to thee belong 

For Melodies that move the heart, and seem 
The tongues of lambent flames that glint and 
gleam 
From out old Pasts, dead and forgotten long. 

God! may that Flight too early called The Last 
Extend beyond the Psalmist's measure far. 

On that pure heart let no foul load be cast 
Too hard to bear, and let no livid scar 

Of grief be made; in Song his days be passed, 
Till Thou receive him late in Dante's Star. 



47 



ADDISON PEALE RUSSELL 

I— J IS brain conceived "A Sky-Built Human World," 
* 1 For which his fecund, germ-creative thought 

Provided large-endowered beings, caught 
From some fair Arcady, or orb out-twirled 
Fresh from the Maker's hand, of star-mist whorled. 
In wise penned apologue this master taught 
A wealth-mad Age how myriad less than naught 
Its ferment; life how fine, with love empearled. 

O Teacher mystic! we thy lesson read 

With hearts aglow to catch its word of gold; 

In fertile spirits hide the quickened seed. 
And, grateful for the talents manifold 

Of head and heart that nurture our poor need, 
We greet thee, Master, Friend! Dear Lord, with- 
hold! 



48 



EDWIN BRUCE COX 

\\ 7HY should we wait till death has closed his eyes 
W To speak the worth of one for whom our heart 
Now holds reserved a sacred place, apart 

From all the common life that round us lies? 

Why should we not speak out the words that rise 
Up to our lips? O friend of mine! no art 
Can tell a tithe of precious thoughts that start 

In my soul's core, what happy tears surprise. 

Thy life to mine has brought a world of joy, 
Such as will come only when friend to friend 

Brings perfect love to each, without alloy. 

The friendly years from out their storehouse lend 

Sweet memories, that no distance can destroy, 
Till life and love this side the grave shall end. 



49 



TO ONE WHO SAW MATTHEW ARNOLD 

SO you indeed saw Matthew Arnold! Met 
That kindling spirit, speaking face to face, 
Who knit to manful strength so much of grace 
As England ne'er since Shakespeare did beget! 
Ycu, your enraptured mortal eyes have set 
On him who worshiped Beauty, while a base 
Philistine mob held all the market place; 
Who suffered slight for Truth without regret. 

How much of bliss and blessing may be poured 
Into one moment, worth a life to know! 
The even pulses beat a humdrum lay, 
When on a sudden that we long adored 
In vision enters through our doorway low: 
From thenceforth angels walk with us the way. 



50 



AD MAGISTRUM 

( To the Memory of Joseph W. Hebble. ) 

THHERE is no death for him whose life survives 
* In others, after mortal change has wrought 

A veil before the senses, and has caught 
From mortal sight the spirit, from its gyves 
Now free. That great, strong soul that touched 
our lives 
In youth's bright day, when every touch is fraught 
With fateful issue, bides in us, and naught 
Of him is lost while virtue in us strives. 

Master, in a thousand-thousand various ways 
Thy virile life goes on in those whom thou 
Didst erst inspire to scorn themselves to give 
In fee to low, base things, and pass their days 
Enwrapped in self; and dost inspire e'en now 
To find in service their true goal, and live. 



51 



HAMILTON 

A BUSY city strides the rolling flood 
** The Great Miami proudly pours to meet 

The River Beautiful. She is the seat 
Of bounteous Trade, whose wakeful fires bestud 
The sky of night with countless flowers that bud 
To burst in roseate bloom, and kindly greet 
The watcher from afar. Her pulses beat 
With Industry's quick throbs of heart-red blood. 

The World *s her market, and her honored name 
The winds of Commerce bear to every land, 
Where cloth of gold gives promise to be won. 
But not on Trade securely rests her fame. 
For Beauty, Justice, Truth, her people stand: 
Mother of Men is fair Old Hamilton. 



52 



HOWEVER LONG I LING'RING WAIT 

(E. B. C.) 

LJOWEVER long beside the sea 

* * Of Life I ling'ring watch and wait, 

His well-loved form is lost to me 

This side the inward-swinging Gate. 
Though sore oppressed my heart may be, 

Strain as I may the bonds of Fate 
And mourn her cruel, harsh decree, 

I may not find him, soon or late. 
Through tears I see his empty chair; 
I miss his presence everywhere. 

And yet, what have I endless lost? 

Is he not with me all the day? 
'T is but the case aside is tossed, 

His spirit walks with me alway. 
When any taint of withering frost 

My higher purpose threats to slay, 
By his pure sun my soul is crossed 

And warmed to honor by its ray. 
Soul! thou 'rt armed for any strife, 
Since thou hast known that sainted life. 



53 



IN MEMORIAM 

(J. J. B.) 

\\/E may not know why on that world- worn heart 
W Was laid a burden all too hard to bear; 
We cannot pierce behind the veil, nor part 
The gloomy curtains of that dull despair. 

But oh, how heavy must have pressed a load 
Could weight a spirit of such sparkling cheer 

To the dark depths of heedless death, and goad 
The weary soul to shed this mortal gear! 

We cannot know. But from the Other Shore 
A best-loved voice insistent called him home; 

And precious hands plucked at his heart-strings 
more 
Than all the world beneath this leaden dome. 

For these he left the light of our poor day 
To try the Mystery of that Upper Room; 

With grief-crushed heart before Thy feet he lay, 
O Thou, who dropped a tear at Lazarus' tomb. 

Comrade of ours, why read we knightly tale 
Of Honor's quest in musty legend mad? 

Thy life is fragrant of the Holy Grail: 

Thou art our sun-white pure Sir Galahad. 



54 



JEFF HILDEBRANT 

LIE tasted deep the cup of life 

*• *■ Down to the lees, its griefs and joys; 

He knew the thrill of manful strife, 

Nor stooped to sensual ease that cloys. 

He loved with strength all outdoor things: 
The sunset on the western hills, 

The bird that from its covert sings, 

The wayside flower that fragrance spills. 

His heart was open wide to calls 
For love from suffering fellow-man; 

His feelings knew no party walls 
Of sect or creed, of kin or clan. 

Wherever there was human need 

His gracious presence fill the place 

With sympathetic word and deed, 

With friendship's handclasp, face to face. 

With honest, fearless, questioning eyes 
He faced the problem of the world, 

And dared to speak the doubt which lies 
In many a coward breast enfurled. 



55 



Amidst the scenes he dearly loved 
We lay with tears this precious clay, 

And joy to feel his life approved, 
As far as erring mortals may. 

Love Supreme! into Thy hands 
We give with trust this noble soul, 

Assured that Thou wilt piece the strands 
And make the broken pattern whole. 



56 



TO A POET BORN IN APRIL 

(W. H. V.) 

OLD Mother Nature took her child 
Born under April's unstaid skies, 

With showery sunlight in his eyes, — 
An April day of breezes mild 

In every feature, — 
And set him on maternal knee 

And taught his baby eyes to look 

In her old cryptic-written book, 
To find the haunt in bush or tree 

Of each wee creature. 

She filled his brain with loving lore 
Of beast, of birds that lightly wing 
The buoyant air, of brooks that sing 

A dreamy murmur o'er and o'er 
In secret places. 

She made the catbird sing for him, 
A choir full-throated. All his days 
She showed him her mysterious ways, 

Her serious purpose, lightest whim, 
Her protean faces. 

She touched his heart with sorrow sore, 
And yet with manhood's rapture pure, 
And joys-in-sorrow that endure 

The tooth of Time. But more and more, 
In Life's strange fashion, 

57 



She sang to him her mystic lay 
Of death-in-life and life-in-death, 
The riddle of this mortal breath. 

But sang it in an April way, 
With changeful passion. 

And then, supremest gift of all, 
The gift of Song, upon his lips, 
Into his heart, she loving slips, 

And bids him into being call 
A world of magic. 

And so our April Poet sings, 

With smiles and tears, of flowers and fields, 
Of man's foredoom and what it yields 

Of Purpose. These with song he wings, 
Chords blithe and tragic. 



58 



THE NEW YEAR 

WHAT will it mean for me? 
Shall I at length attain 
The heights by all my dreams foretold? 
Be now in truth and deed 
All that I long and strive to be? 

Or will my portion be 

The same old round of petty cares? 

Will it be mine once more 

To see my high resolves decline 

To deeds ignoble and ideals mean? 

To sell my soul for each day's dole of bread? 

What will it mean for me? 



59 



THE SCHOOLMA'AM 

\TOT born of passion and of pain 
*■ ^ Are they, the children of her brain 
And heart and soul and inmost core 
Of life. No carnal rite has o'er 
Her life and theirs a sweet spell cast. 
No birthpang suffered she; nor passed 
Near to the gates of Death to bring 
These babes to life; nor felt them cling 
With moist lips to her breast; nor long 
Nursed them in pain, and with a song 
Lulled them to rest. No ties like these 
Bind flesh to flesh her life, and ease 
The work her hands and heart must do 
To bring their lives the Good and True. 

And yet, her woman's heart goes out 
To them in love as pure, devout, 
And tender, as one human heart 
Can to another love impart. 
Affections from the source divine 
Of perfect Motherhood refine 
Her nurture. No mere dam is she 
That loves unwisely. But to be, 
Through weary travail of the soul, 
The mother pure of beings whole, 
Is hers. Than this no greater crown 
To mortals can the gods bring down. 

60 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 

I— IE spends a soul of high emprise 
*• * In task so lowly in the eyes 
Of men of purse that pittance mean 
Seems guerdon worthy all the teen 
A heart of loving service tries. 

Himself, he office, fame denies; 
Shuts from his ears the lureful cries 
Of riches. Lo, for other's wean 
He spends a soul! 

But make no haste to sympathize 
With him. His is no choice unwise. 
In faith the bounds of life between 
Pure Wisdom's golden grain to glean, 
And point a Race to fairer skies, 
He spends a soul! 



61 



THE AVIATORS 

{To W. and 0. W.) 

O, ye have added as with wizard's wand 
" A new domain to man's imperial power, 
And made him monarch of a realm beyond 
The wildest dreams that to his heart respond 

In its most tense and high-exalted hour. 

A miracle of miracles it seemed 

When he, whose feet were fettered to the earth, 
On conquest of the heaving ocean dreamed; 
And in his eyes the light of triumph gleamed 

As that bold thought in certitude had birth. 

Yet closed to him as by the hand of Fate 

One element forever must remain! 
No human force can ope that brazen gate 
That shuts him powerless from his own estate, 

Which still he strives with ceaseless might to 
gain! 

But Fate itself is witless to prevent 

Man's upward progress led by Giant Mind. 
For when Prometheus leal and man consent, 
The gloomy gods no shackles can invent 
The limbs of this great demiurge to bind. 



62 



For ye have mounted as on eagles' wings 

Into the air, the kingdom of the birds. 
Joy inexpressive his proud bosom stings, 
And in his heart he songs of triumph sings: 
His claims to lordship are not empty words, 



63 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

WHEN Israel's prophet in the days of eld 
The Suffering Servant of Jehovah saw, 
No comeliness of features he beheld 

In Him who bore the burdens of the Law. 

No grace of form, no beauty to desire, 

Was found in Him who for our ransom paid ; 

Yet by His death He raised us from the mire; 
Our sins upon that suffering heart were laid. 

And when at length in process of the years, 
A nation proud trode on her brother man, 

God heard the cries, the droppings of the tears, 
And sent a savior to remove the ban. 

That homely face, that gaunt and haggard frame, 
No beauty offered to the thoughtless mind; 

But that great spirit in God's wisdom came 
To break the chains that bound his humble kind. 

On that great heart a nation's crimes were laid 
That down through all the centuries had come. 

His gentle spirit for our freedom paid; 

Rests on his head the crown of martyrdom. 

brave, meek spirit! thou for us who died, 

That every man through thy death might be free, 

We dedicate ourselves to Duty's side; 
In honoring her thus best to honor thee. 

64 



PAOLA AND FRANCESCA 

(Dante's Inferno, Canto V.) 

WHAT matter though the bitter blast of hell 
Enwraps our souls, and all the hideous band 
That in this Pit for their foul deeds must dwell 

Howl in our ears? Within this coil we stand — 
We two — alone, and no fierce breath of flame 
Can touch to wither us. Upon this strand 

Where upward-lifting Hope for us who came 
Through yielding soft to wicked-sweet Desire 
Lives not, we two, whose hearts remain the same 

As on that blissful-bitter day, when fire 
Flowed through our veins as in a book we read 
Of Lancelot and Arthur's Queen, and dire 

Confusion seized our senses, that time sped 
All unawares, the book now flung aside — 
We two, divided never, crimson-wed, 

Wander at peace and let the whole world slide. 
For what to us is all this wail and woe 
As long as Love shall with us twain abide 
And on our hearts his precious gifts bestow? 



65 



HOW CAN WE FACE THE WORLD? 

LJOW can we face the world with lifted head, 
* * Or front our neighbor with untroubled eyes, 

When every fiber of our being cries 
That Virtue 's blasted and that Honor 's dead? 

How can we teach nobility to Youth 

Or point with faith to Fame's eternal way, 
When elders by their action dare to say 

There is no worth in goodness or in truth? 

When those who should from vileness guard their 
sons 
Lift Vice on high into an honored place, 
And flaunt Iniquity before the face 

Of trustful Youth, and smirch these little ones? 

For there is branded on the heart and brain 
Of budding Manhood, seared into its soul, 
That Devils lie, of hellish spirit whole, 

That sin brings not dishonor in its train; 

That trust in temperance and the pure in life 
Is but a mockery; that hope is vain 
That builds on these; that nothing but the pain 

Of foul defeat is guerdon of that strife. 



66 



Then why not close our churches and our schools? 

Why should we teach, or preach of things most 
high, 

When works like these but give our words the lie? 
When this one fact but shows us we are fools? 

In sackcloth and in ashes let us go, 

Since our fair name receives this deep disgrace; 

With hearts bowed down and stricken we must 
face 
The shameful blot all After-time must know. 



67 



I STOOD BESIDE THE OPEN GRAVE 

[ STOOD beside the open grave 
* Of one that in his life I hated, 
And thought to have no feeling save 
The one of passion fully sated. 

Soft sunshine flooded all the place, 
The birds in every tree were singing; 

While perfect peace possessed the face 
Of him for whom Death's bell was ringing. 

Against my cheek caressed the breath 
Of breezes charged with scent of flowers, 

That spoke of life despite of death, 

And filled the heart with Love's pure showers. 

A serious silence held the throng 

There gathered round those restful features, 
What time the choir in solemn song 

Chanted God's love for wayward creatures. 

How small and mean beneath such skies, 
With that still form at rest forever, 

Appeared this hate before the eyes 

From which no time this scene can sever! 

A flood of tears gave sweet release 
To feelings pent, and as from heaven 

A voice seemed low to echo, Peace! 

And Life with love my heart to leaven. 

68 



LOVE 'S ENOUGH 



T^HE years, my Love, have brought 
* Nor gold nor silver store, 
And things of earth we sought 
Are ashes at the core. 



Life promised then|so|much ! 

We should be rich and great, 
And we with joy should touch 

High honors in the state. 

And, too, we should be wise 
In knowledge won from books, 

And gained with ears and eyes 
From fields and running brooks. 

All wisdom should be ours, 

And so should power and place. 

Ambition! how it towers 
And — falls upon its face! 

For much we sought we missed, 
And things of keen pursuit, 

When won, did but consist 
Of bitter Dead Sea fruit. 



69 



But though we Ve missed the heights 

That in our dreams we saw, 
We Ve found what more delights 

As near life's close we draw. 

We ve found that more than gold, 
Than knowledge, place, or power, 

Is Love, as we grow old, 

Against the storms that lower. 

We ve learned, though hard 's the way, 
Though life's high sea be rough, 

Though skies be cold and gray, 
This truth, that Love 's enough. 



70 



YOUNG JOHN THOMAS 

P\0 you see that jolly fellow 
*-^ With the snowdrift in his hair, 
But whose heart is rife with summer, 
With no hint of frost-bite there? 

Do you hear his mirthful cackle 
As he slyly cracks his jokes, 

When old fun-provoking Humor 
At his short-ribs gayly pokes? 

Do you know that heart of gladness 
Spreading sunshine everywhere, 

Driving every old blue devil 

Out of dark souls crushed with care? 

That 's my friend, that 's young John 
Thomas, — 

Young and strong and tried and true. 
Catch him, hold him, draw him to you. 

He will be a friend to you. 



71 



THE CITY OF GOD 

{Read at a banquet of the Hamilton, Ohio, Federated Clubs, 
5th March, 1912.) 

I_JOW sore dejected is the anxious heart 
* * Of him whose eyes are purged, whose art 
It is to clearly see beneath the show 
Of outward splendor, all the mean and low 
Conditions, all the hollow mock within — 
The pauper wealth, the beggary and sin — 
A proud, fair-seeming city thinly hides, 
That Joy is laughless, Greed alone abides! 

Walk open-eyed with me this crowded street 
Intent to catch its meaning, and to greet 
The Virgin, Truth, so stark and unadorned, 
Praised in her absence, in her presence scorned. 
See how there flaunts before the lustful eye 
Of gaudy, pinchbeck Wealth a rainbow sky 
Of brilliant colors flashed in myriad tones 
From costly silken weaves, from gold, from stones 
Some Afric native gave his life to find. 
Behold this shop, in show beyond the mind 
Of Lydian Croesus, where from shelf to shelf 
Is ranged the reeking wares that power and pelf 
Have wrung from tithe-paid labor o'er the world. 
All this to clothe, in its mad frenzy whirled, 
A putrid body for a soul long dead, 
A carrion dog i' the sun. A sky of lead 

72 



Arches the avenue where scornful Pride 

And thoughtless Youth in whirring monsters 

ride 
In endless vain pursuit of that which comes 
Alone, unbidden, to the heart that hums 
A simple song of mingled minor chords 
And joyous notes, too full of life for words, 
In rhythmic beating to its daily toil 
Sweetened by perfect recompense. 

The foil 
Of this material-mad life is near 
At hand, where factories skyward rear 
Forbidding hulks, and from their chimneys pour 
A foul-besmutching vapor, spreading o'er 
The narrow strips of heaven that dimly show 
Above these canyon streets dark clouds that 

throw 
A pall-like shadow on the lives below. 
Within, the image of the Lord Most High, 
That for which the immortal Son did die, 
Bends o'er a hopeless task. For unto him 
There bursts no vision, since his eyes are dim 
With tears of toil for labor without end, 
(Except the end called Death), for thus to spend 
A life was meant to breathe the breath of fields, 
To garner all the bliss dame Nature yields 
In upland meadows, catch the scent of flowers, 
Drink beauty from the West in evening hours. 
And all this moil by him whose heart is dead, 
For a mere crust of sweat-soaked, blood-stained 

bread ! 

73 



View we the home which all this travail brings 
To him whose deft hands build the courts of kings. 
Sure he must rest his weary head o' nights 
On downy pillow. Lord of Heaven, what sights 
Are these! A narrow, stench-filled, blear-eyed street 
Crowded with festering barracks, only meet 
For swine; fulfilled of poverty and woe 
And pale disease and all the blights that go 
Into the piteous lot of God's own poor, 
Gainst whose advancement Mammon shuts the door : 
The street his children's playground and their school 
Of crime ; that web to catch the unwitting fool 
Whose only god is sense, because his soul 
Is crushed, the vile saloon with deadening bowl; 
Our scarlet sister, she whose feet take hold 
Upon the ways to hell as brazen-bold 
She plys her trade, and she the crudest cost 
Of this mad world of Business, wholly lost, 
Because our Shylock greed demands its pound 
Of human flesh, and leaves no margin round 
A mere subsistence, so that Mother might 
Surround her Daughter with the holy sight 
Of Virtue gathering fair reward: — just this, 
To fail the peace of life, its joy to miss, 
Is recompense of him whose humble worth 
Must bear the crushing burden of old Earth. 

The welter of the winter storm is past; 

The arctic-icy hand is loosed at last 

That held in iron grip forest and field 

And murmuring brook, and cast a vitreous shield 

74 



O'er pond and river, touching with cold palm 
The very founts of life. A breath of balm 
Is borne from out the southern sky, and Love 
Mated with Life bears offspring from Above. 
Jack-in-the-Pulpit reads his homily 
Where late the white-capped, billowy, wintry sea 
Of drifted snow, gazed on by gorgon face, 
Filled heath and holt. Now all the breathing space 
Is palpitating with the bounding blood 
That flows in every swelling stalk and bud 
Of lowly herb and towering tree. The lawn 
Is gilt with burnished gold, for as the dawn 
Drinks up the dew, rathe Dandelion spreads 
His yellow cups, soon changed to hoary heads. 
The homely dooryard shrub shall burst and blow 
With fragrant lilac; life's high tide shall flow 
Through orchards white and pink with beauteous 

bloom ; 
Mid blossoming clover eager bees shall boom; 
Pert robins on the sward eye half-askance 
The passer-by; the oriole's nest shall dance 
Upon the breeze; and summer's plenilune 
Shall light for lovers' sakes the nights of June. 

Into our veins the ichor rich has run, 

As flows through woodland boles 'neath vernal 

sun 
The precious liquor. In our hearts the God 
Of life eternal, He who works in every sod 
And beats in every embryo, is born 
Again. From our unseeing eyes are shorn 

75 



The darkening curtains, and we now may see 
A brave new world, the world that is to be; 
Conceived in all this tumult, born in pain, 
But born to joy and to a priceless gain. 
What seemed sheer death to our poor, purblind 

eyes 
Was but the pause of life neath brumal skies 
Before a glorious spring. We shall behold 
Ere yet this spleenless, blundering world grows old, 
The city built foursquare, whose streets are paved 
With precious gold, whose tree-fringed banks are 

laved 
By living waters. Here nor rich nor poor, 
The cash-coarse Dives nor the witless boor, 
Intrudes. But Man, full-blooded with the strife 
For others' gain, for darling weans and wife 
And for his neighbor — he who lives next door, 
In the next street, and, what is strange, yea more, 
He at the wide world's end — shall willing lose 
All mine and thine in his glad wish to choose 
Another's weal before his own. And she, 
Foretime his servant, helpmate true shall be, 
Bearing not like but equal burden. Then, 
In that glad season of the Future, when 
The curse of hunger, early toil, and care 
Before its time, shall lift, and all is fair 
That looks into the face of budding Youth; 
When Joy and Hope and earnest-minded Truth 
Walk hand-in-hand with little children, rapt 
Toward lofty stars on mountain heights snow- 
capped 

76 



In visions of new Eden — in that hour 
The heart of Youth shall bloom a perfect flower, 
Filling with fragrance all the happy earth. 
Foul Passion shall to chastest Love give birth, 
And she we mourned shall walk the streets no more, 
Fouling her body, with her spirit sore. 

O City Beautiful! of thee we sing, 

For thee we pray and labor. Only bring 

In our own time a sure-prophetic ray 

Of that great sun-burst of the wished-for day, 

When thy old men shall dream resplendent 

dreams, 
Stirred in their slumbers by the Future's beams; 
Thy young men visions see. We kiss thy rod, 
O Lord. Grant us this City of our God. 



77 



AN ODE 

(Read at the Clinton County, Ohio, Centennial and Home Coming, 

27th August, 1910.) 

I 

'T'O-DAY upon a hundred-terraced hill 
* We stand and gaze, mid plenty and in peace. 
Long since the painted Indian's warwhoop shrill 
Died out in silence, and its echoes cease 
To vex the winds that blow 
Across these fields, where grow 
The abundant harvests for another race, 

Whose homes are happy in the land's increase, 
And whose proud sons a noble lineage trace. 

II 

Let us who live surrounded now with all 

The arts that make life worth the living, 
Fail not the noble deeds of those to call 

Back to remembrance, who in giving 
Their simple selves whole-heartedly to duty 
Wrought out this scene in all its power and beauty. 
Those pioneers, into whose labors we 

Have entered, and whose patient durance paid 
The price which Nature sets, that man may see 

His hopes of ease on firm foundation laid, 
Claim of us here who celebrate this day, 
The tribute of a word it honors us to pay. 

78 



Ill 

Lift up the voice in song 
To those to whom belong 
All honor, praise, and admiration, 
For that they built this glorious nation 

Through their self-sacrificing lives. 
They felled the forest, cleared the field, 
And made the stubborn sod to yield 

The crop it offers only him who strives. - 
They made them virtuous homes, and bred 

A race of strong-souled sons and daughters, 
Brought up in fear of God, and fed 

On homely fare and sweet, health-giving waters. 
Their lives were hard, but not devoid of those 

Life-building joys that give the soul uplift. 
In Sacred Word and song they could oppose 
To all the earthly moil and bitter woes 

Their trust in Him who is His own best gift. 
And in this living faith they wrought, 
And from The Book in vision clear they caught 

A Pisgah-sight of this glad time. 
They knew they did not work in vain, 
They realized that all this toil and pain, 

Which we but poorly tell in rime, 
Would build for Liberty and Peace a fane. 
And lo! in answer to their faith's pure trust, 

Behold these fields with teeming plenty filled; 
These homes where dwells strong, sterling Manhood 
just, 

With every note of jarring discord stilled; 

6 79 



These heavenward-pointing spires, these thronged 

schools, 
Which show that Righteousness with Knowledge 

rules ; 
And all the nameless goods that gird us round 
And make our eager hearts with pleasure bound. 



IV 

The age-old struggle tense 
Brute Nature to subdue 
And Titan forces close to mew, 
Which, unconfined, oppress 
In man both soul and sense, 

Leaving no time in which he may possess 
His higher self, and chew 
The cud of leisure sweet, 

At length its violence abates. 
A fairer time awaits, 
And other visions greet, 

The eyes of watchers at the gates. 
But the Sphinx has questions still 

Which still for answer call; 
The gods grind at the mill, 

They grind both large and small; 
And now as in the days of eld 
A hand writes on the wall 

Its warning to the sons of men: 
It is the same which Babylon beheld. 
The wavering balance, now as then, 

80 



Inclines, and Justice bows her head 

In shame. For men are led 

To auction block, and human flesh is sold 

As is the beast's, and gold 

Is weighed against the love 
Of father, mother, child, 
And that fierce passion, hot and wild, 

A spark Promethean from Zeus above, 
That rages in the heart of youth 
And lives in joy and ruth. 

V 

Against this foul denial of man's right 

To own himself, Old Clinton cried aloud. 
The Quaker set his Inner Light 

Opposed to every compromise, 

Or court-made law of Southron proud. 
And every church of every kind, 

And men who all the creeds misprize, 

With shoulder touching shoulder stood 
Resisting firm Oppression blind. 

The freedom for themselves thought good 
They to another would not grudge 

E'en though his skin were of another hue. 
In spite of threats they would not budge 

From that Old Law, to unto others do 
As they would that another should to them. 
The bondman touched the hem 
Of Freedom's garment, when, 
Escaped through brake and fen, 

81 



He touched this soil. His path 
From that dark land of wrath 
Was pointed out by willing hands, 

That helped him on the way 
To those clean northern lands, 

Where shone the sun of Freedom's full-blown 
day. 



VI 

But not alone 

In straits that call for bitter strife 
Is full-fraught manhood shown. 
The quality of thew and bone 

That makes for pulsing, tingling life, 
In uneventful years 
When rise no clamant fears, 
Puts verve into the world of common toil. 
They gathered then the spoil 
Of Ceres, built them better homes, 

Brought Art and Culture to their hearths, 
And stocked their fields and garths 
With fruits found proper to these loams; 
Then wrought broad highways through the land 

For commerce and for neighborhood; 
And stretched aloft on every hand 

Those copper nerves through which there 
thrills 
Intelligence of ill and good. 

Each morn the conscious ether fills 

82 



With hum of labor in the fields 

And in the shops and marts. 
And all this hive-like effort yields 

The source from which calm Leisure starts: — 
A leisure turned to best account 

In things of spirit and of mind, 
In things that cause the soul to mount 
Aspiring after life supreme. 

This latter can he find, 

Not in the baleful dream 

Of pleasure sensual and blind, 
But in the precious stores 

Of knowledge vast, when Wisdom opes her doors. 
For this these frequent schools, 
The wise man's proper tools 
To shape and fashion youth 
Unto the mould of perfect truth. 
For this the College on the hill 
To form the intellect and will 
Of leaders of their people, who 
Shall know the right, and knowing, dare to do. 

VII 

And now upon the southern breeze 
In shuddering beats there comes 
The hail-like patter of the drums 
That buzz and burr like angry bees. 
And next the sound of Sumter's guns 
In throbbing diapason runs 
Through all the land. 
Now brother's hand 
83 



Is lifted gainst his brothers breast. 

The hour has struck when each must choose 
On which side he shall stand. 
If it were best 

In slothful peace to lose 
All that the Fathers won, 
A land, the best the sun 
In all his course looks on, 
Where freemen formed a mighty state 
To Liberty and Progress dedicate; 

Or, trusting in a righteous cause, 
Invoke the God of Battles, sure 

A goodly land of equal laws 
Is worthy such a bitter cure. 

There is no fond delay; 

For Washington to Adams calls 

At dawn of that dark, fateful day; 
And Richland, Vernon, Wilson, Wayne, — 
O mother-hearts that throb with pain 
In all these cottages and halls — 
With Clark and Green and Marion, 
With Chester and with Jefferson, 
March side by side in rivalry 
With Union and with Liberty. 
From each of these in serried ranks 

Leal Clinton sends her Best — her BEST! 
Her dead make holy ground the banks 
Of Tennessee in Shilohs woods, 
The Wilderness's solitudes; 

Of Chickamauga in the west, 

84 



And in the east those dreadful heights 

Of Gettysburg, where proud Rebellion's ghost 
Paled unto death before that host 

That fought for simple human rights. 

On every field the Stripes and Stars 

Contested with the Stars and Bars 

Her gallant sons laid down their lives 

To strike from off a race the gyves 
Of bondage, and to keep 

The Nation one from Sea to Sea, 

From Lake to Gulf, that it might be 

Their children's children aye should reap 

The fruits of peace and unity. 

VIII 

At last the gates of Janus close, 
And they who late as deadly foes 
Had met in mortal strife, 
Take up the burden of the civil life 
And by their conduct prove 
That the same motives move 

The patriot on the battle field 
And in the common walks of peace. 
His fight for Justice does not cease 

Till all her foes are made to yield. 
The burden he takes up anew 
To build a nation strong, and true 
To her ideals pure of eld, 
In which she ever held 

85 



That simple manhood is the test, 
Not wealth or birth, 
Just honest worth, 
Of all that noblest is and best. 
The pride and power of wealth 
Which threaten soon to crush 
The liberty for which he fought, 
And by chicane and stealth 
In trade's mad roar and rush 

To steal the good so dearly bought, 
Can only frustrate be 
By men both brave and free, 
Such as were they who e'en at life's dear cost 
The gage of battle in the dread lists tost. 



IX 



But let no note of gloom 

In this glad symphony have room; 

Let be no counsel of despair. 

The world is fresh and fair, 

And full of promise are the coming years. 

The future holds in store, 
Not craven doubts and fears, 

But Hope, as ne'er was Hope before. 
We stand to-day upon the mountain-top, 

As Israel's Prophet did of old; 
No bound of sense our sight can stop. 

Our prescient eyes behold 



86 



The vision of the World- to-Be ; 
When man shall work secure 
From fear, that dogs the poor; 
When none shall bow the knee 
To Mammon, but shall serve alone 
The King of kings, before whose throne 
They only serve whose hands are clean, 

Whose hearts are pure. 
They of the years of which we ween 
Shall not endure 
That little children in their hands shall bring, 
Not fragrant flowers of spring, 

But hard-earned copper for their daily bread; 
That maidens fair and sweet 
Shall fall to ruin in the street, 
That they were better dead; 
That men and women shall grow old 
Before their time that one may gather gold 
In heaps to feed his greedy lust. 
But they, these patriots brave and just, 
Shall usher in 
Isaiah's promised day, 

When Love alone shall win 
The prize of life, 
And social strife 
Shall cast its sword away. 
And as she pours this strain in listening ears 
Old Clinton shall complete her second hundred 
years. 



87 



TO MISS C 

{On Her Approaching Marriage, with a Present of a Long Spoon.) 

LJYMEN sweet in silver shoon, 
* * Under soft-blue skies of June 
With its bright mid-summer moon, 
Sing for you his cryptic rune; 
Fill your heart, both late and soon, 
With Love's satisfying boon, 
Making life one long, long spoon 1 



88 



sanaaBw^mmaazaaam^u 



SCHOOLGIRLS CHATTERING 

{To Alma, Mart;, Agatha, and Verona.) 

HOW like the foam that lightly floats 
Upon the brooklet's rippled stream, 
Or light as is the dance of motes 

That people thick the slant sunbeam, 
Is this gay gossiping of Youth 

That chattering strikes my idle ear, 

And flows with laughter that, in sooth, 

Has power to quick a heart long sear! 



89 



o 



AUTOGRAPHS 

(A. B. W.) 

HEART of Youth! I envy you 
The faith that makes your dreams come 
true. 

(R. E. s.) 



I have no sermon grave to preach, 
No lesson deep of life to teach 

To you to-day. 
Only a wish that from above 
The gods may crown your heart with love 

Along Life's way. 

(TV. M. G.) 

The gates of Life swing open wide, 
And Love and Youth with you abide, 

In Spring's sweet day. 
May never crabbed, envious Age 
Abate the fire of noble rage 

In you, I pray. 

{H. B. B.) 

For what is youth? A gust of breath 
Made hot with ardent Fame's desire; 
Ambition's spark of holy fire 

That glows not for decay or death. 

90 



(H. E. S.) 

O for the holy vision, 

For Youthtime's high decision, 

And uncorrupted ways; 
E'er yet the cold precision 
Of Age holds in derision 

The zest of youthful days. 

(R. T. H.) 

Visions of what we shall be, — 

Captains that sail the wide sea, 

Dwellers in palaces we, — 

Leaders of Life, in sooth; 

Ladies and lords in the land, 
Counting our gold as the sand, 
Walking with Love hand in hand,- 

This is the promise of Youth. 



91 



NOV 11 1912 



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